


In A Mundane World

by gwendy1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gore, M/M, Minor Character Death, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendy1/pseuds/gwendy1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Breaking Bad</i> Fusion AU; This is what could have happened if there was never a war with Voldemort...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In A Mundane World

**Author's Note:**

> _Heed the warnings -- this is not a story about good guys! If you’ve never seen Breaking Bad, you may want to check the warnings above before reading._ Thank you, S, for the beta read! This was written for the [bottom_draco](http://bottom_draco.livejournal.com) Adaptation Fest. And Dear Anonymous Prompter, I hope you enjoy! \o/

Severus clicks his tongue in disgust at the state of his classroom. Sixth year students and they still couldn't be bothered to clean up after themselves. " _Mind your stations_ , you insufferable lazy children," he mutters, while picking up the leftover ingredients and carefully replacing them into their proper places in his cupboard. No matter how many points he takes off their houses, the likelihood that he'll ever see a day when all of his students follow the bloody rules is slim.

 

As if it wasn't a bad enough day already, having to teach the latest Potter child -- a troublemaker twice the likes of his brother Harry and another loathsome example of James Potter's genes spoiling the progeny of Lily Evans.

 

The Wizarding World is going to pot and he's not the least bit surprised.

 

Well, Filch will have to deal with the rest of the mess. He's going home. Severus washes and dries his hands at the sink and gathers his cloak, a bundle of shrunken scrolls in the pocket that are sure to inflame his ire upon the grading of them.

 

On his way out of the building, another miserable day behind him, he passes through the kitchens and snatches up an apple to eat on his path down to Hogsmeade.

 

He's on his way to his third-floor walk up -- a decent enough flat -- just above the Quidditch Supply shoppe, when _of course_ , who should stumble drunkenly into his path?

 

Sirius Black. The impertinent fool.

 

The lout stumbles out amid drunken and boisterous laughter. He shouts a farewell to Madame Rosmerta, Remus and Pettigrew under each of his flailing arms in an attempt to support his weight.

 

Black turns and catches sight of Severus. He smirks, wide and derisive.

 

Severus sneers back at him. It's too much for him to pass without comment, is it? Well, what pearl of slight does Black have for him this time?

 

"Why, if it isn't Snivelus? What are you gawking at, snake?"

 

Severus quirks up his brow and drawls out, "An obstacle in my path. Move along, Black. The less time I spend in your alcohol-soaked presence, the better."

 

Remus tries to nudge Black along -- "Come on" -- but he's not so easily deterred from a chance to taunt Severus.

 

"Who are you to criticize my drinking? You probably drink your fancy Slytherin spirits in the dark and cry. And what have you done, huh?" Black plods forward and prods a finger at Severus' chest. "You're nothing compared to Potter and me. We clean scum like you off the streets everyday. It's only a matter of time, I say." Remus and Pettigrew struggle to shift his weight back. "'S a matter of time before we catch you doing something."

 

Another couple of laughing drunks tumble out the door before Severus can do more than glare at Black. The figures join the others in front of him. And, _what luck!_ It's Potter and Weasley.

 

"Haha. Hey, Sirius? How about you buy me a drink after the next bust -- when _I_ become Head Auror? In fact, I'm so sure I've got a promotion coming my way, I'll bet you two, no, _three_ rounds of drinks!" Potter staggers over to lean on an already overburdened Remus and looks between Black and Severus, who he seems to just be taking notice of. "What's this, then?"

 

Severus keeps silent. He has _no_ impulse to dignify this arrogant display with a response.

 

Black guffaws and turns away from staring him down, confident in some nonexistent victory. "Just exerting dominance over the riff raff, here."

 

Remus huffs disapprovingly, but Pettigrew snorts and remarks, "Yeah, you're a real animal." Black shoots a glare at his own lackey and Pettigrew looks down in embarrassment.

 

Weasley pipes up. "Well, I've got to get home. Molly's bound to have cooked up a feast." And Potter smiles, "Me, too. Got the wife and kids waiting for me." Black throws a smug grin back at Severus, not oblivious to that particular twist of the knife, and goes with the others as they swagger off.

 

Perhaps he should have said something. Cut them to shreds with vitriol. Severus stifles a sigh and continues on his way. _Someday_ , is what Black thinks. Well, _someday_ Severus will get the last word.

 

* * *

 

There's post waiting for him. Local Potions Newsletter. Invitation to another Malfoy Ball. Why do they keep sending them? He never shows up.

 

Severus is about to retire with the remainder of yesterday's half eaten sandwich, some tea, and the newsletter, when an owl hoots from the window and drops another parchment in the basket on the ledge. A coupon to a ridiculous shop he'll never step foot in, perhaps? He snatches it up and reads.

 

Hospital letterhead. It's an urgent note to floo to his Healer's office.

 

The results were not good, then.

 

* * *

 

It's as he suspected, but the confirmation doesn't bring any satisfaction.

 

Healer Fletcher steeples his fingers and sighs, his eyes darting around his desk. "There are plenty of experimental treatments to try. Many, I assure you, show quite promise." The desperate inflection in his voice belies his words. "And we'll add you to the list, of course. Who knows? We are having several charity benefits soon. It's entirely possible they will raise enough funds to reach you on the list."

 

 _Insulting_. Severus stares coldly at the man until he trails off into nervous silence and starts shifting papers around.

 

* * *

 

Severus takes the opportunity to re-state his well-reasoned case for handing off teaching duties for the younger years in his Potions and Defense classes as well as the slew of Remedial he’s had to deal with over the years. It should be fairly easy to find someone qualified to cover the less advanced areas of the subjects; he’s not demanding anything beyond extraordinary here, after all, and so he is confident that using his unfortunate health situation to his advantage will _finally_ push Dumbledore into granting his _perfectly_ logical request.

 

Dumbledore hmms, and extends his candy dish.

 

Severus rolls his eyes and accepts a lemon drop.

 

Leaning back, Dumbledore responds, “This is sad news, indeed. I wish you a speedy recovery, my friend. And I shall, of course, discuss your request with the board.”

 

It sounds vaguely more reassuring than his last response to such a request, but Severus has known this particular Headmaster long enough to realize how patronizing he can be. He doesn’t invest any more hope in a favorable outcome and doesn’t care if Dumbledore attributes his sour expression to the lemon drop.

 

Sure enough, when a staff meeting is called several hours later, Dumbledore is, _of course_ , jovial to announce: “Due to a very generous Malfoy donation, we will be expanding with a new wing and new professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

 

A twisted solution to lighten his workload. The miserable old bastard probably doubts his ability to scrape together enough galleons for the expensive cure and is waiting him out. If he didn’t know any better, he’d be impressed at such a Slytherin ploy to eventually replace him.

 

But Dumbledore couldn’t leave it at that, could he? No, he had to make a show of his vaunted Gryffindor kindness, arrogantly continuing, “A welcome reprieve, I hope, for our dear Professor Snape, who has fallen prey to a very serious health malady. I trust that all of you will be sure to show your colleague some support in this trying time.”

 

Severus scowls in dismay. Oh, really? Was it necessary for everyone to know his business? It wasn’t enough to take Defense from him -- he had to take his privacy?

 

But even that’s not enough.

 

Professor McGonagall rises to stand beside Dumbledore. “Yes, we’d like to start a collection for Severus’ health fund.”

 

“No.” Severus is flooded with rage. Deputy Headmistress or not, how dare they gossip about him. He will not allow them to take his dignity. “The _presumption_.” Surging to his feet and slamming a fist against the table, he snaps, “You absolutely will _NOT!_ ”

 

“Now, Severus, calm down.” Dumbledore has the audacity to look disappointed in him.

 

“No, I will not calm down! And I will not be made into an object of pity and charity. I’ll tell you where you can shove your bloody _disrespect_ \--”

 

* * *

 

Storming off hadn’t helped. A stiff drink of firewhiskey at the Hog’s Head hadn’t helped. And it certainly wasn’t helping to improve his mood to have his angry stride down the block interrupted by one of James Potter’s drug busts.

 

Upstanding “role model” citizen that the ponce is, he has Aurors and pathetically swooney-eyed onlookers crowding around the building.

 

A flash of movement catches his attention from the corner of his eye.

 

On the rooftop of a nearby building, Draco Malfoy -- a former student that he instantly recognizes -- is running, while tugging on a shirt and cloak. He just manages to pull them up his arms and over his naked shoulders but they hang open, billowing in the wind and showing off his chest, muscles heaving as he jumps from the edge of the building onto the rooftop of the next building. Draco’s gaining distance from Potter’s spectacle and it becomes clear when he rolls off the lower rooftop and drops into a crouch in the alleyway before standing and pulling his wand that he’s trying to get past the Anti-Apparation zone. 

 

So, Draco Malfoy is the clever little bugger evading the authorities and fancying himself a potions fiend. Severus huffs in amusement.

 

The sound must travel, though, for it causes Draco to look over at him, nervous and bewildered.

 

Severus just smirks and quirks an eyebrow. As if he would have any intent to assist the Aurors in catching criminals, let alone getting involved in someone else’s affairs at all.

 

Draco makes a furtive glance back towards the crime scene area before fixing Severus with one last cautious look and apparating away, a quiet pop overshadowed easily by the gleeful shouting of the newly arrived reporters.

 

One pokes a magical recording device in Potter’s face as he emerges from the building, spell-sealed bags of evidence tucked under his arm. She asks, “Why do you think there’s such a boom in the illegal drugs market now?”

 

Potter puffs up his chest and poses -- his face sure to be plastered all over tomorrow’s paper. “Well,” he says. “There’s a lot of money in the black market. But not for long, if we have our way!” He grins. “Crime doesn’t pay, children!”

 

* * *

 

 _Professor Snape_. It’s been awhile since he’s seen his former professor and now the man has witnessed him fleeing the scene of a crime.

 

He’s not worried that Snape’ll turn him in, though. The professor always let his students know when they had displeased him, cutting them down with sharp and swift words. But he also wasn’t the type to extend any effort to report any of them for their screw ups. You were either _in his way_ or you weren’t. “It is not my responsibility to stop you from making fools of yourselves,” he had once said. Draco had, after all, been a bit of a screw up.

 

So, Draco takes a moment to relax in his dusty penthouse flat. He throws his cloak over the back of his sofa -- still stained because he hadn’t figured out the spell for removing them -- and sprawls lengthwise across it, folding his arms behind his head for a makeshift pillow. It’s really too bad his parents hadn’t allowed him to take a house elf.

 

“You’re Apparation wards are flawed.”

 

Draco flails, jumping off the sofa, standing, and turning to look behind it where Professor Snape stands. “Ahh! How--? What--? Why are you here?”

 

Snape wanders around the sofa and runs a finger through the dust along the floo mantle. Lip curling in a sneer, he says, “I am not surprised in the least that you’ve never learned how to keep a clean house.”

 

Draco just watches him, wary and confused.

 

Snape wipes his finger on a handkerchief and turns to face Draco. “So, you’re using what talent you have to make a profit in the drugs trade.” He looks at Draco pointedly. “And I assume you are finding some modicum of success in it, managing to make a _ridiculous_ name for yourself in the news while avoiding the Aurors.”

 

“Melon-y Mood Enhancers isn’t such a ridiculous name. It describes the product, gets people interested, and some of the _distributors_ even say I’m often mistaken for a female supplier. How’s that for throwing the Aurors off my trail?” Draco smirks.

 

But Snape is unimpressed. “ _Flavouring_ , really? You’re degrading the quality of your own product.”

 

Draco frowns. “What do you care?”

 

“You know the business and I know the process. My proposition is simple: we work together... or I turn you in.”

 

Draco can’t help the squawk of indignation that escapes him. “That’s not a proposition; that’s an ultimatum!”

 

Professor Snape’s expression is the very picture of self-satisfied. 

 

* * *

 

Thankfully, it didn’t take much convincing to get Draco to agree to a partnership. Which, under the circumstances, the boy should consider himself lucky. Without Severus to keep him careful, it was only a matter of time before Draco became a feather in pompous Potter’s cap. And if Severus is able to maintain there being a criminal thorn in Potter’s paw, then that’s certainly a delicious bonus to his share of their future profits.

 

Gathering the proper equipment and ingredients is not difficult, and he brings them the next day to the place Draco found for them to cook up a new batch of highly addictive mood enhancers, only to be faced with what looks like an abandoned Muggle work site.

 

“What is this? You brought me to some Muggle building construction area? Where are the people and what have you done with them?”

 

Draco smirks playfully -- the brat. “Don’t fret. The Muggles are off on some other work site. I’ve got word that they’re not going to be back to this one for several days. Something about funding. So, this’ll be fine for a temporary lab setup.” He walks them further through the building debris and off to the side, smiling at the sight of... one of those damned _portable loo_ things!

 

Severus’ mouth twists into a moue of disgust.

 

“Now, wait! Look! It’s got an ‘Out of Order’ sign -- just in case -- to deter suspicion from the charms warding it,” Draco points. “And...” he opens the door, “it’s bigger on the inside.” Yes, the interior has clearly been magically expanded and in no way resembles what one would expect of the inside of a portable loo but rather a sufficient lab space.

 

Severus sighs. “It’ll do.”

 

Inside, he sets up the equipment and most of the ingredients. Draco hands over a key ingredient and observes with keen eyes. Before he begins, though, Severus disrobes leaving only his underpants on, remarking: “Producing with these ingredients creates a very _distinctive_ and permeating odor, and without proper ventilation, we will have to take measures to avoid notice.”

 

Draco sputters, wide-eyed with disbelief. “You’re having me on.” He watches, his eyes trailing curiously, as Severus dons a protective apron and gloves. “Bloody hell, you’re serious.” He follows suit, stripping down to his underwear and putting on the extra apron and gloves. Severus Snape does not trifle with safety measures.

 

With a flick of his wand, their garments are spell-protected. “We’ll have to scrub thoroughly with some strong cleansers after this,” Severus mentions, starting the burner.

 

The next few hours go by steadily, in some strange parody of past lab assignments -- with his lecturing professor tone and all. Draco is carefully attentive and assists with the procedures when Severus allows him to, demanding a strict level of respect for the proper protocols required for making the kind of quality that meets his exacting standards.

 

In the short breaks afforded by the process, Severus sits and reads the Daily Prophet. There’s an article about how Riddle is running for Minister despite one of his past aides -- Bellatrix Lestrange -- having been brought up on campaign finance corruption charges.

 

Draco has no patience for waiting, of course, and tries to engage Severus in conversation. “It’s odd, you know. You getting into all of this. What reason could you possibly have to want to become involved?”

 

“Hmm,” Severus folds the paper and is grateful to see it’s time for the next step in the process. “Well, why not?” He offers, giving nothing away.

 

Draco rolls his eyes in acknowledgement.

 

Later, when the process is complete and their fresh batch of mood enhancers are ready, Draco hovers over it in awe. “This... is _brilliant_ ,” he says. “I’ve never seen anything this pure. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised with your expertise responsible.”

 

Severus nods. It’s no mystery that his potions expertise has lent itself well to the nature of this endeavor.

 

Draco grins over at him. “We’re going to make a killing on this!” Excited, he turns back to the batch and reaches toward it, “I’ve got to try it.”

 

Severus slaps his hand away, severity in his voice when he reprimands him. “ _No_. We supply it; we don’t compromise ourselves with it.” He stares hard at Draco and prompts him, “What’s the next order of business?”

 

Draco stiffens, his posture straightening, and acclimating to the change of subject with commendable speed. “Business, yes. Well, now I take a sample of this,” he says, spelling a small portion into a little container, “to a bloke I know.”

 

* * *

 

Draco snaps impatiently at the grumpy old house elf that answers the door. “I’m here to see Philip.”

 

The elf sneers at him, but leads him inside and through several rooms before signalling him to wait at a closed door. With a pop, the elf disappears and moments later the door is spelled open by the same elf -- now inside the room and scowling at him.

 

Draco disregards such rude behavior -- he has more important business to attend to -- and greets Philip who stands to face him with an unsettling smirk. What has he got to be so smug about?

 

“Ah, Draco. What brings you here?”

 

“I’m here because I’ve come into some supply,” Draco replies, holding up the sample. “And I’m offering to deal you in as distributor.”

 

“That’s interesting. Isn’t that interesting, Henry?”

 

Suddenly, two arms grab Draco from behind and -- _shit_ \-- it’s Henry! The very same guy who Draco happened to be working with on the last batch and had presumably gotten caught up in the Auror’s raid.

 

Philip stalks up to Draco, where Henry is holding him tightly in place. “You may know my younger cousin, you little prick, but that will afford you no protection for being a rat!”

 

Draco shouts, incredulous, “A rat? Are you _mad_? I’d never snitch to the Aurors. Why would I tell those bloody fucks anything when I’m trying to build an income here?”

 

Philip huffs, but pauses to consider him suspiciously. “You’re lucky Henry’s solicitor was able to get him released.” With a dubious expression, he asks, “Income, huh?” He snatches the sample out of Draco’s hand. “What’s this, then?”

 

Looking closer at it, Philip reels. “Merlin, is this real?” He cocks a questioning eyebrow at Draco. “How pure is this?”

 

Henry jerks him forward. “Let me see,” he says, peering at the sample, though Philip is quick to remove it from its container and test it out on himself.

 

“Oooaahh!” Philip shakes his head and whips it back. “Fuck! Where did you get this shit?”

 

Draco pulls against Henry’s hold. “Exhilarating?”

 

Philip takes a deep breath and laughs. “Yes.” He grins at Henry and throws a look of menace at Draco. “And you’re going to take us to the rest of it.”

 

Draco frowns. _Shit_.

 

At wandpoint, Draco is forced to take them to the temporary lab site, where he left Snape in the middle of preparing a second batch. It’s an unfortunate reality that this business attracts a lot of greedy and dangerous people.

 

“Is this it?” Philip derides, mocking the Muggle surroundings. Henry joins him, snide chuckles and jeering looks.

 

Draco sighs. “It’s in there,” he reluctantly admits, pointing at the far portable loo.

 

Philip guffaws and leads the way, while Henry drags Draco along.

 

Draco holds out some small hope that Professor Snape has heard them coming and will somehow be prepared, but that isn’t the case.

 

As soon as they enter, Snape shouts, “What took you so long? I told you this was a two person--” before cutting himself off as he realizes the urgency of the situation.

 

Philip snorts at the sight of Snape clad in only his underwear and safety gear. “So, this is the man behind the quality shit?” He gestures with wide greedy eyes at the recent batch on the counter. “Did you really make that?”

 

“Holy shit!” Henry exclaims when he see it and tosses Draco aside, pulling a gun out of his cloak before Snape even has a chance to respond. “Let’s just kill them and take their stuff,” he says, and Draco is disturbed by how excited he sounds.

 

Philip gasps, staring at Henry. “Is that a Muggle gun?”

 

Henry smirks. “They’re good for some things.”

 

Draco stands and shifts from foot to foot, frightened and edgy, but he surreptitiously arms himself with his wand.

 

But Snape just calmly holds up his hands, one still holding a jar of ingredients. “There’s no need to kill us.”

 

Philip pulls out a bag of galleons -- a hefty amount by the size of it -- and agrees, “That’s right. Why would I kill you when I can make you come work for me?”

 

“Wait,” Henry says, squinting at Snape in suspicion. “He looks familiar.”

 

Philip barks out a frustrated, “What now?”

 

Henry grabs up the nearby Prophet with his wand hand and glances at it, then points accusingly at Snape. “Yeah! He’s in the background of photos taken from the scene of the Auror bust. Maybe he’s the one who called in the Aurors! Trying to bump off the competition, were you? You fuck!” He yells and fires a shot off.

 

“Petrificus totalus!” Draco shouts, spelling Henry ramrod stiff and causing him to drop the gun and topple over, hitting his head hard on the corner of the counter.

 

In the commotion, Snape pitches the ingredients from the jar right into Philip’s face.

 

Philip screams bloody murder, dropping to his knees and clawing at his eyes which start to bleed as well as his nose, mouth, and ears. He falls further to the ground and twitches, moaning painfully before slumping to the floor, ominously silent.

 

Draco and Snape breathe, still absorbing what just occurred. Luckily, the gunshot had missed Snape. But... “Oh, bloody hell,” Draco says, looking with worry at Henry’s bleeding forehead.

 

“Stay calm,” Snape says, kneeling to check for a pulse on Philip and being careful to avoid the extremely toxic stuff he had thrown. He stands upright immediately, assesses the room, and says, “We’re going to need to clear up the evidence and dispose of the bodies,” confirming that Philip is indeed _dead_.

 

“Merlin,” Draco says in despair, running a hand through his hair.

 

“Focus,” Snape urges. “Was this lab area soundproofed?”

 

Right. Draco desperately fights to ignore the nauseated feeling attempting to overtake him. _Focus_. “Yes, no one should have heard that shot. Or the screams...” He shudders.

 

Snape nods. “Good. That gives us some time. We’ll need to make sure there are no magical traces. We can use mundane chemicals -- the ones Muggles also use.” He finds his cloak, unseals it, digs through a pocket, and upon finding something, he hands it to Draco. “Emergency portkey. I need you to go to my flat and get these chemicals--” He scrawls out a quick list on a scrap of paper. “--from my private lab. There should be enough. Hurry back. We don’t have much time.”

 

Draco nods, dazed, and makes haste to follow his directions. Collecting the necessary items proves simple and in a blur of motion, he returns to the work site.

 

Snape is dressed and has gotten the drugs and equipment packed away and ready to take with them when they are done. He looks at the jugs of chemicals Draco has retrieved and says, "We'll need to put the bodies in the plastic basins of the other portable loos and pour this over them. We can’t afford to use anymore magic right now. Then, we'll remove this temporary lab space and any remaining magical trace of us."

 

Puzzled, Draco glances down at the chemicals in his hands. "And what'll this do, then?"

 

Professor Snape looks at him and with a perfectly sober expression, answers: "It will dissolve the bodies and break down the organic matter. Be sure not to get any onto yourself."

 

Utterly horrified, Draco exhales a shaky breath. "Oh."

 

And just when he's thinking that things can't possibly get worse... A low moan drifts out of Henry.

 

Oh, Merlin. He's still alive. They're going to Azkaban, aren't they? That is, if Henry doesn't snatch up his gun and kill them first. Draco can feel his chest seizing in anxiety, on the verge of hyperventilation.

 

But Snape snatches up Henry's gun before he can regain consciousness. He looks to Draco, eyes widening.

 

Draco shakes his head. "No, I can't do that. I'm not killing anyone."

 

Snape sneers. "Just seconds ago, you thought you already had."

 

"Well, it seems I haven't! So I'm not about to start," Draco remarks in indignation.

 

Clenching his jaw, Snape says, "Fine. You get him--" pointing to Philip, "--in the basin of one of the other loos. Use this to make him fit." He hands Draco a saw, which -- _holy shit_ , did he steal this from the work site? "And _remember_ , do not get any on yourself. Meanwhile, I'll deal with..." He trails off.

 

The queasy feeling is returning. "Basin? You mean where the... shit goes..."

 

"Yes," Snape snaps, losing patience with him.

 

Henry moans again and Draco races to comply with his instructions, dragging Philip’s body out of there and taking a jug of chemicals with him.

 

Snape steps out of the lab space, takes a deep breath, adjusts his grip on the gun, and goes back inside to deal with Henry.

 

Draco looks away, shoving Philip into a portable loo two doors down. He follows, wedging himself inside the cramped plastic cubicle. His hands are shaking, but he reaches out and lifts the... seat area. _Ugh_ , it’s disgusting. 

 

Minutes later, after twisting and shoving the body as much as he can, Draco concedes defeat; he’s going to have to cut off the legs to fit it all in. He vomits into the basin and wipes his tears away with a rolled up sleeve.

 

Once the body’s all in, he pours the liquid chemical over it and watches it melt.

 

Draco lowers the plastic seat area, concealing the red sludge, and picks up the empty plastic jug. He walks past his former professor loading Henry’s body into the next plastic cubicle -- a bullet hole now decorating the bloody forehead -- and returns to the temporary lab to take a seat, waiting and sweating.

 

* * *

 

Draco peers through the gap between his curtains, watching the people move around the street below. He has the batch made with Snape hidden in his flat and he knows he needs to sell it, but... he can’t stop the feeling that at any moment he’s about to be caught.

 

Some tall men amble towards his building, fiddling with their long dark wizard’s cloaks.

 

Spooked, Draco hightails it over to his floo and gets the hell out of there.

 

Within seconds, he’s in his old room. At Malfoy Manor. Where he didn’t leave on the best of terms.

 

“Oh!” comes a squeek from the corner. Dobby halts his dusting and disappears in a pop.

 

Draco sighs and goes over to his old desk. He takes a seat in the desk chair and lays his head down against the polished wood of the workspace. It’s probably best not to entertain the thought of staying long enough to use the bed.

 

He taps out a nonsensical rhythm with his fingers. Turning his head, he leans over to open a desk drawer and, leafing through the parchment, he pulls out an old assignment.

 

Potions. 7th year. He’d received a T -- for Troll: Fail, with distinction -- and a note: Ridiculous! Apply yourself!

 

There’s the shuffle of footsteps and he shoves the assignment back in the drawer before facing the door.

 

It opens to reveal his little sister, Lulu, with her mouth puckered in a wicked pout. “What are you doing here?” She asks.

 

“Nothing.” He groans.

 

She folds her small arms and glares at him. “Then you’d better leave before Father finds out you’re here.”

 

Draco looks at her, standing there, bedecked in ribbon and lace. He can still remember being that young, that proud. “Yes. I suppose I should.”

 

* * *

 

Severus steps out of the apothecary, having just used his half of the Philip boy’s sack of galleons -- after so much gruesome cleanup, it was only fair to give Draco _something_ \-- to purchase one of the rare ingredients for his expensive cure. Considering he has now put a down payment on restoring his long term health, his overall mood was good, but it only improved upon noticing _Sirius Black_ dining with Lupin on the open air patio of the cafe across the way.

 

Shifting his bag, Severus lines up his wand underneath the bottom edge and takes careful aim. One well placed spell to the ring on Black’s finger and the hand sprang out to slap the buttocks of a passing waitress. Lupin spit his drink into Black’s face, shocked, and the waitress slapped Black solidly upside the head.

 

Severus stalked down the road and out of sight, with a barely discernible laugh. The discreet use of magic from a distance had been well worth the risk.

 

* * *

 

After getting in contact with some of the guys he knows, Draco manages to unload the batch on Theodore Nott for a sizeable sum of money.

 

Theodore grunts and smacks his lips, as if he had just had his thirst quenched. “Hnn, that’s the stuff.” He jumps in place twice. “This,” he says, squeezing the bag of the _purest mood enhancer he’s ever had_ , “is going to make me a big hit at Pansy’s party this weekend. Huge. _Larger than life_ \-- the life of the party! Mate, I am so glad you changed your formula or whatever it is you did. This-- this is--”

 

Draco grins and nods, ushering Teddy to the floo. “I got it, mate. You go. Have fun.”

 

In a flash, he’s gone and Draco turns to stare at the money. _A whole lot of money_. The higher the quality, the higher the price. And Draco’s beginning to imagine just _how much_ this partnership with Snape has the possibility of yielding them. _Each_.

 

* * *

 

There’s a stack of money on the bedside table and it’s intoxicating. He’s never felt so powerful.

 

Years have passed since Draco was a student of his, but it seems to make no difference. Still, Draco calls out “ _Professor_ , uhn, uhn, please.”

 

Severus thrusts his lube-slick cock deeper into Draco’s tight warm arsehole.

 

Draco struggles to hang onto the vigorously rocking headboard, scrabbling at his shoulders with one hand, and cries for more, “Harder, yes, _please_.”

 

And Severus grins viciously down at him, aware of the power he holds -- the control.

 

-end-


End file.
